


Paid For

by containedmultitudes



Category: Firefly
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/containedmultitudes/pseuds/containedmultitudes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal likes to pay for what’s his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paid For

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kink-bingo.livejournal.com/)**kink_bingo** 2010, prompt: prostitution

Title: Paid For  
Author: [](http://sapphiretragedy.livejournal.com/profile)**[sapphiretragedy](http://sapphiretragedy.livejournal.com/)/diggingupophelia/containedmultitudes**  
Fandom: Firefly  
Summary: Mal likes to pay for what’s his.  
Notes: Written for [](http://kink-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)**kink_bingo** 2010, prompt: prostitution

Mal made sure that the shuttle doors were locked. Twice. What he and Inara were about to do was private. Business.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked, pulling setting the tea kettle down on the tray and pushing a piping hot cup of tea toward the empty cushion that was reserved for Mal.

Mal gave a terse nod. “I’m all for keepin’ our arrangement _professional_ ,” he said, lowering his voice as he said the word, as though it were vulgar. He wet his lips with the edge of his tongue as he let the word settle between them, heavy and perverse.

Inara pushed herself away from the table and her tea. She stood up and closed the distance between her and Mal. She held out her hand. “It’s customary to _pay_ first.” She quirked an eyebrow. “I believe we agreed on fresh fruit – whatever you could find planetside.” He caught her coy glance toward the straining fabric of his tight pants.

Mal smirked. “Didn’t drag it up here,” he said. “It would have drawn attention, seein’ as you didn’t hand me any cash and didn’t write a thing on the list. But,” he removed his hand from behind his back and produced a single, perfectly ripe peach. “I did bring a show of good faith.”

Inara took the fruit. “Really? You couldn’t find a less vulgar fruit at the market?”

“ _Shen me_? Never thought of fruit as vulgar. As currency, sure. But, never vulgar.”

Inara brought the peach to her face and inhaled the fragrance. She brought it to her lips, desperate to devour it, but stopped. “It wouldn’t be right for me to savor it before you savor me,” she said, turning to set the fruit on the table next to her abandoned tea. “Tell me, Captain, do you like _paying_ for it? For me?”

Mal swallowed thickly as he nodded, seemingly incapable of speech.

Inara smiled as she stepped closer to him, letting her perfectly manicured hands fall to his shirt-covered chest. All the buttons were done up, but Mal was quickly coming undone.

“I like that you’re mine, and only mine,” he said. He let his broad hands grasp her around her slender waist, pulling her even closer than close. He let the intoxicating aroma of her hair overtake him, draw him into her and her snare of wiles.

She drew up a hand to unfasten one of Mal’s buttons. “You get what you _pay_ for,” she said, her voice husky.

In response, Mal lifted her chin to kiss her. His exploration of her soft lips was tentative, uncertain and hungry. He wanted her, _all_ of her – body, heart and soul. But for now, he would take what he paid for: borrowed time. He nipped at her lips, gentle tugs of his teeth, devouring her in tiny pieces, before he finally gave in and pressed his lips against hers and allowed himself a tentative exploration of what a crate of peaches got a man these days.

Inara divested Mal of his shirt, the worn cloth falling to the ground, a whisper of the moment collapsing in on itself like a black hole, and lightly scratched his chest with her nails. He sucked in a breath as he deepened the kiss.

Inara pulled away first, putting only enough distance between them to undo the flies of Mal’s pants while he pulled the ribbon holding her robe closed. “Seems,” Mal said, his voice deepened by desire, “I _paid_ for a whole lot o’ wrappin’s.” He let his rough, calloused fingers trail over the soft silken affair she had on under the robe. He marveled at how a piece of silk could simultaneously leave so little to the imagination and show nothing at all. “ _Wuh de tyen, ah._ ”

Inara laughed. “Captain, you flatter me.”

Mal, impatient, pushed Inara toward her bed. It looked too pretty to be mussed – more silky wrappings over silky wrappings, which he clawed at in order to find a place to press her down into. Inara fell back onto the bed, melting into the silk, a wide smile on her face. She bit her lip mischievously. “Careful, Captain. Pinning me down costs extra. It’s a Class B Proclivity. Far beyond your price range.”

Mal felt a low growl escape his throat, an earthy rumble that was decidedly out of place Inara’s consecrated room. He was spoiling the decadence of the moment with his uncivilized ways; but Inara, who was quick to point out his flaws in usual circumstances, didn’t say a word. Instead, her hand worked his way into the open flies of his pants and pulled his length free with one hand as the other tugged his pants down and over his hips.

He broke contact only to pull his pants off. He slid his hands up Inara’s smooth leg, past her knee, past her thigh, under her silky chemise, bunching it up and up and up until it slid over her head and vanished into the silky sheets and they all blended together as one mass of soft.

Inara pulled him down onto her, her hot breath caressing his neck while her hands did unspeakable things to his nethers. The only word he could form was her name, and it fell from his lips in hesitant syllables, “Inara.”

“Every time _costs_ , Mal,” she said, accentuating each word with precise hand motions designed to make a man come close to the edge of falling.

Mal was putty in her hands. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Crates of peaches in the main bay.” He panted. “Crates.”

Inara wrapped her legs around Mal’s hips, and pulled him close. He entered her, slowly, so as to let the tensions build for him and her. “I’m very expensive,” she said, as she raised her hips to make join with her faster.

Mal said nothing. He focused instead of building a rhythm, taking both himself and Inara closer and closer to the little death. Sweat dripped from his brow to her body, leaving rivulets of him trailing down her body, down, down to where his eyes couldn’t see, claiming her inch by inch. He was enveloping her, stealing her way, getting what he paid for in little throaty sounds of pleasure that he bought and paid for.

“Bought,” he said, his pace quickening. “And,” he and Inara came together, grasping at each other’s flesh, pulling each other closer and closer until all sensation blurred the lines of their bodies and they were one flesh, finally, for the shortest eternity Mal would ever know. He collapses onto Inara and finished his sentence. “Paid for.”

-Fin


End file.
